


The One With All the Kissing

by nakedrednailpolish



Category: Reba (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, happy quarantine y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakedrednailpolish/pseuds/nakedrednailpolish
Summary: aka five times Barbra Jean kissed Reba and one time Reba kissed her backaka Barbra Jean is head-over-heels for one (1) sassy redhead and also very, very impulsive
Relationships: Barbra Jean Hart/Reba Hart
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40





	The One With All the Kissing

The first time Barbra Jean kisses Reba, it’s a complete accident.

Everyone can sense the strain on Brock and Barbra Jean’s marriage. Kyra admitted that when she hears them fighting late at night, she sneaks over to Reba’s so she can get some sleep. Barbra Jean worries all day, every day, about whether she and Brock will be able to make it. She wants to keep their household together, for Henry’s sake. He isn’t even old enough to understand what’s going on – she doesn’t want to put any more stress on their five-year-old kid.

This particular time, they’re fighting about Barbra Jean’s obsession with beanie babies, which snowballs into Brock admitting that he feels suffocated by her need to control everything (especially the beanie babies), which leads to Barbra Jean threatening, “Oh, I’ll suffocate you, alright.”

And of course, this particular fight happens right in the middle of Reba’s living room.

At Barbra Jean’s threat, Reba decides it’s time to intervene. She shoots up from the couch and plants herself between the two, seeming to fear that Barbra Jean _will indeed_ suffocate him, and though Barbra Jean loves Brock, she knows that Reba would _hate_ having her ex-husband’s ghost in her house. Her frustration’s palpable, and Barbra Jean can almost see steam coming out of her ears.

Last time she and Brock fought at Reba’s, Barbra Jean vowed herself that she wouldn’t get into it again over there. Reba has enough going on as it is, with her new real estate job and everything – Barbra Jean doesn’t want to make Reba’s life any more hectic than it already is!

But dammit, the man’s just so _frustrating._

“You know, Barbra Jean,” Brock says, “sometimes you’re just too much.”

Barbra Jean gasps. She can see a smile fighting the distressed frown on Reba’s face.

Sure, Barbra Jean knows she’s… a lot. She’s a lot physically, given that her six-foot-one height, gorgeous looks, and busty chest could stop any man in his tracks. And sure, maybe she likes things a certain way, like making sure her beanie babies are arranged in a specific order that will allow them to get along. And maybe she’d like Brock to be at home a little more often instead of spending his evenings on the golf course.

And maybe it’s a quip that she’d expect from Reba. But from her husband in the middle of an argument? Yeah, that hurts.

“And you’re just a walk in the park, Mr. Spray-Tan-Golf-Obsessed Teeth-for-Brains!”

Brock’s hands go up at the jab, and this time, Reba lets out a chuckle.

Reba quickly pulls herself together to scold them. “Alright, you two, that’s enough! First of all, the kids are right upstairs. Not to mention you’re _in my house_. Now, you two need to stop arguing, or I’m gonna sell _your_ beanie babies and _your_ golf clubs on eBay.” She bristles and shakes her head, then turns to face Barbra Jean.

“Barbra Jean, can you find it in yourself to admit that maybe you could loosen up a bit?”

She scoffs. “Coming from the Queen of Controlling Things – ”

“Ah!” Reba interrupts, throwing up a hand. “Especially since y’all are using up _my_ time right now to fight about this?”

Barbra Jean doesn’t want to compromise. She’s _been_ compromising with her husband since they got married. If she had it her way, he’d never spend another minute at the golf course.

She sighs. “I suppose… if it really means that much to you… maybe it wouldn’t hurt Mr. Snufflegus to sit by Ms. Marvelous for an hour.”

“Barbra Jean,” Reba scolds.

“Okay, fine! I’ll back off a little. Whatever.”

Reba nods, seeming satisfied, and turns to Brock.

“Now Brock, can _you_ admit that you could be spending a little more time with your wife?”

Barbra Jean can’t see Reba’s face, but she pictures the redhead mocking a gag, as she tends to do after saying things that actually support Brock and Barbra Jean’s marriage.

Brock seems to be battling out in his head what he wants to say next.

“I’m sorry that I moved Mr. Snufflegus without asking you first.”

Reba thumps him in the stomach.

When he recovers, he corrects himself.

“Okay, _fine_. I promise I’ll be home more often.”

“Really?”

Sensing the pair is ready to make up, Reba steps out of the way, switching places with Brock. Barbra Jean half-registers Cheyenne and Van descending the stairs and Kyra entering from the kitchen.

Brock takes a deep breath. “Yeah, really. I want us to be better. I want to fix this.”

“Oh, Brock! I’m sorry I called you a spray-tan-golf-obsessed teeth-for-brains, even if it _is_ true.”

So, maybe she shouldn’t have said that last thing. And maybe Reba’s standing a little too close behind Brock. But when Barbra Jean moves in to give Brock a make-up kiss, the little snake _ducks_ , causing Barbra Jean’s lips to crash straight into Reba’s.

The women jump apart like repelling magnets. Reba’s eyes widen and her jaw falls open in shock. Barbra Jean watches her nervously, fearing a fiery reaction.

As for the rest of the room, Brock thankfully wears a face of regret ( _that’s what you get for ducking, Golfer Boy_ ). Cheyenne and Kyra wait in stunned silence, but Van can’t hold in a small giggle.

Avoiding eye contact, Reba closes her mouth and brings a hand to her lips.

“Oh, Reba, I’m so sorry – ”

Reba throws up a hand.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” she states softly, still not making eye contact with anyone. “And when I wake up, you two _mo-rons_ are gonna be _out of my house_!” She storms off, up the stairs and out of sight before Barbra Jean can find her voice to apologize again.

Everyone else stands frozen, probably wondering if what they’d just witnessed actually happened.

It’s Van that breaks the silence, softly singing, “Bow-chicka-bow-bow…”

Cheyenne smacks him with the back of her hand. “Van, stop it!”

“Well, that was weird,” Kyra comments as she heads up the stairs. “Even for _this_ family.”

Brock looks like _he’s_ trying to keep himself from laughing.

“All right, everyone, show’s over! Nothing to see here!” Barbra Jean announces loudly, heading for the door. “I’ve gotta go home and make sure Mr. Snufflegus and Ms. Marvelous are okay.”

She tries not to think about the slice of happiness she felt upon realizing she’d kissed Reba, not Brock.

*

Years pass. Van and Cheyenne finally move out, into an apartment where they can raise Elizabeth together. Kyra goes off to college, thankfully ignoring only _some_ of Barbra Jean’s calls.

Barbra Jean finds herself at Reba’s house more and more often. She and Brock are officially getting a divorce. Though Barbra Jean has plenty of assets squirreled away, Brock has his mind set on keeping the house, and she doesn’t think her lawyer can stop him from taking it.

“Oh, Reba, I don’t know what I’m gonna do!”

Reba’s currently washing the dishes from dinner. She made chicken parmesean, Barbra Jean’s favorite. Sure, maybe Barbra Jean had invited herself and Henry over when she heard, but they were welcome at Reba’s table any time! Or at least, Barbra Jean was pretty sure.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me? I already divorced the man.”

“Yeah, exactly, but you had the house and Brock had the condo. Now that the condo’s sold, we only have the house. Henry and I are gonna end up out on the streets!” She gasps and bites her knuckles. “I’m gonna have to start mugging people again!”

Reba gives her a horrified look, and Barbra Jean can only shrug.

“Don’t you have money saved away? Thought you set yourself up pretty nice a few years ago when you thought you were gettin’ divorced then?”

“Well, yeah, but I used a good bit of it to pay off the condo. And thanks to his _last_ divorce, he made me sign a prenup!”

Instead of sympathy, Reba rolls her eyes and gives her that flat “not-my-problem” look that Barbra Jean really should have expected.

“My lawyer’s doin’ her best,” Barbra Jean continued, “but I don’t think it’s gonna be a lot.”

“Hang on,” Reba says, setting a plate into the drying rack. “Is he still livin’ at the house now?”

Barbra Jean nods her head furiously. “Uh-huh. And he’s been bringin’ around his _new_ lover, the little skank!”

Reba’s mouth opens in horror.

Barbra Jean gestures in her direction. “I don’t know how you put up with it for so long!”

And Reba’s giving her that flat look again.

“’Course, I’m a lot nicer than her. She is so _mean_ , Reba, I can barely stand it!”

“Meaner than me?”

“Oh, but you just kid. She’s downright _cold_.”

“Well, why doesn’t he move in with her, if they’re spendin’ so much time together?”

“He says her place too small. I think that’s why he wants the house – so they can have a _dozen_ rooms to do it in instead of just the two.” Barbra Jean lets out a little whine. This just _sucks_.

Reba finishes rinsing a pot, sets it on the rack, and unplugs the drain, all without speaking or making eye contact.

Finally, she heaves a sigh and looks at Barbra Jean.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but why don’t you move in with me?”

Barbra Jean’s heart flutters at the mere _thought_ of it. Getting to _live_ with Reba? Full-time? It would be a dream come true!

She doesn’t let herself get her hopes up too quickly, though.

“Oh, Reba, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Even though the look on Reba’s face tells BJ she might actually regret asking, Reba plows forward. “I’ve got two extra bedrooms now that the older kids are gone. You can take Van and Cheyenne’s room, and Henry can stay in Kyra’s.”

Barbra Jean’s heart flutters a little faster as she stands.

“I don’t wanna inconvenience you.”

Reba tilts her head and smiles. “You inconvenience me by existing, but I can’t really help that, can I?” She crosses to the freezer and pulls out a tub of ice cream. It’s rocky road, a flavor which Barbra Jean happens to know isn’t Jake’s (cookies and cream) or Reba’s (mint chocolate chip) favorite. Reba doesn’t usually grab Barbra Jean’s favorites – this must be a happy coincidence.

Barbra Jean’s about to back track, tell Reba nevermind, that she’ll figure it out, but Reba keeps talking.

“We’ve got the room. Then when you’re back on your feet, I can help you find a new house to buy.” Reba brings the ice cream over to the counter, along with four bowls and four spoons.

“Oh, great! Except I still have Dolly Major’s card, I might call her to – ”

Reba stops her ministrations and puts both hands on the counter authoritatively.

“Consider the commission I’ll earn on the house you buy as repayment for lettin’ you live in my house rent-free.”

Barbra Jean receives the message loud and clear, and, to be fair, she only mentioned Reba’s real estate competition to needle her.

She rounds the counter excitedly.

“Oh, Reba, I’m so happy, I could just kiss you.”

“Fight it.”

Reba’s giving her a very stern look, and though Barbra Jean usually heeds when she sees it, she can’t hold her excitement in this time.

She puts her hands on either side of Reba’s head, pulls the other woman toward her, and plants one right on the lips.

She can feel Reba squirming, and, okay, maybe she took it a little _too_ far, but she’s just so happy. She’s moving in with her best friend!

Barbra Jean lets go, throwing her arms in the air in celebration as Reba stumbles backwards, grabbing the counter to steady herself. BJ beams her thanks as Reba rights herself and rubs the back of her hand against her mouth.

“That’s it, no ice cream for you.”

Reba starts dishing out ice cream for the boys, who’d gone into the living room after dinner, and BJ finds she can’t be upset about missing dessert.

“Reba, thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

“Aw, well, I think it’ll really piss off Brock, and that’s its own reward.”

Barbra Jean laughs at the joke, unable to believe that they’d really become this close over the past few years.

Then Reba slides a bowl of rocky road in front of Barbra Jean, and even though she’s in the middle of a messy divorce, Barbra Jean knows it’ll be okay.

*

Five months go by.

Reba turns out to be right. Their living situation really pisses off Brock, especially because now Brock can’t gloat about the house anymore since everyone and their cousin knows that Barbra Jean living with Reba is really a dream come true for her.

She won’t forget the way the color drained from his utterly shell-shocked face when she gave him the news, surrounded by dozens of moving boxes and with his new baby momma fuming in the background. Reba really gets a kick out of _that_ story.

Barbra Jean moves most of her things into storage, just until she and Reba find a new house somewhere.

_Well, until Reba finds me and Henry a house_ , BJ corrects. The thought of her and Reba sharing a house tickles her in a way she can’t quite name.

With Barbra Jean around all the time, Reba’s jabs are getting weaker, and her reactions to BJ’s shenanigans are becoming less volatile. This was already happening _before_ now, but the move really seemed to reduce their intensity. Reba says once that it’s because she’s been desensitized to the chaos, that she’s saving her fire and anger for when she _really_ needs it, but Barbra Jean thinks that Reba’s beginning to like having her around, if only to keep the house from feeling so empty without as many kids around.

Every night at dinner, Barbra Jean insists that they all hold hands while they pray over the meal. Though Reba resists the first few times, soon her hand is reaching for Barbra Jean’s at prayer time without any prompting.

Jake’s in high school, so she and Reba begin seeing less of him as the months wear on. He spends most of his time hanging out with his friends or disappearing in his room. And so, many nights, after Henry is put to bed, Barbra Jean and Reba find themselves on opposite ends of the couch, watching TV together and occasionally even chatting.

This becomes Barbra Jean’s favorite part of the night. Just her and Reba, alone, sitting a foot or two apart in companionable quiet with a mug of tea or glass of wine. Sometimes they leave the TV off and Reba curls up in “her” corner of the couch with a book and Barbra Jean definitely does _not_ sketch her in her sketchbook. She thinks that this time between them will be what she misses most when she leaves.

Even though five months have passed and neither woman has even hinted at looking for a place.

Things couldn’t be going more smoothly, until one night when Barbra Jean gets up to go to bed.

“Good night, Reba. Sleep tight.”

“Night, Barbra Jean.”

Then, without thinking, Barbra Jean leans over and kisses Reba on the forehead.

She realizes what she’s doing as soon as she does it. It used to be an automatic thing, back at her other home – when she headed to bed, she’d kiss the forehead of whoever was sitting with her on the couch, be it Brock or even Kyra. She’s gotten out of habit in the past few months, since now her only couch-mate often pretends to dislike her. Barbra Jean’s so sleepy, she must’ve done it on autopilot.

Reba only blinks at her, so Barbra Jean quickly decides it’d be best to scurry up to the bedroom without drawing any attention to it. Maybe Reba didn’t actually mind it – or at least, is too tired to.

But just as Barbra Jean makes it to the base of the stairs, Reba’s silky southern drawl stops her in her tracks.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Barbra Jean brushes her hair out of her face and smiles. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

Reba leans forward, still seated on the couch. “I’m talkin’ about all the touchin’ and the huggin’ and the _kissin’_.”

Barbra Jean thinks about explaining the autopilot thing to Reba. Maybe she won’t appreciate the context, but at least she’ll have an explanation for the forehead kiss.

Not that it explains the other stuff. Hands brushing as they make dinner together, moving about the kitchen like a pair of figure skaters, perfectly in sync as Barbra Jean dices vegetables and Reba manages the stove. Fingers grazing as BJ hands Reba her coffee every morning. A hand on Reba’s shoulder when Barbra Jean enters a room. Scratching each other’s pajama-clad backs, especially right in that spot below the shoulders where bras tend to itch. Tight hugs (okay, Barbra Jean holding onto Reba tightly and Reba’s arms hanging limp at her sides) after Henry’s winning soccer games, after the first time Jake comes home past curfew.

That one night that neither of them dare to mention since it happened. The night that Reba broke down, admitting to Barbra Jean just how much she missed Kyra and Cheyenne and Van and Elizabeth all being in the same house. The same night that Barbra Jean broke down, admitting that even though she felt freer and happier after her divorce, she still loved Brock and hated that she even felt that way.

(“Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”

“No, it’s okay.” Reba says quietly. “I felt the same way after _our_ divorce.”)

The night they held each other and cried and then the next morning pretended never even happened.

So maybe they’ve gotten a little touchy over the past few months. But she and Reba are _close_. Best friends. This stuff is normal for best friends.

“It’s _called_ being best friends, silly. I’m very affectionate!”

“Yeah, well, it’s gettin’ to be a little much.” Reba settles back into the couch. Barbra Jean opens her mouth to respond politely, with an apology and a promise for more space, but then Reba lets out a chuckle and adds, “Sometimes it’s almost like you’re in love with me or somethin’.”

Barbra Jean blinks.

“Pffft,” she replies, barking a laugh. The idea is absolutely ridiculous. Sure, she may care for Reba more than she cares for herself sometimes, but that doesn’t mean she’s _in love_ with Reba. It was just a silly joke.

Though now Barba Jean’s heart is racing and she doesn’t know why.

“In love with you? Ha!” Barbra Jean tacks on, maybe a little too loudly. “Good one!”

Reba, who had been wearing a teasing smirk, crinkles her brow in confusion.

“Oh, Reba, you’re so funny,” Barbra Jean continues, making her way backwards up the stairs. “Y’know, that’s what I admire most about you, is your humor. You can make any situation seem hilarious, and – ” When she reaches the top of the stairs, she turns and bolts.

Once in the safety of the bedroom, Barbra Jean presses her back to the door and wonders why there’s suddenly a strange feeling in her gut.

*

So, maybe Barbra Jean is panicking.

She’s always _liked_ Reba. Who wouldn’t like Reba? With her witty humor, kind heart, loyalty, and beautiful red hair, _anyone_ would be taken by her.

And sure, maybe BJ had that one fling back in her twenties. And that one time in college. And that one time in her high school theater club where Barbra Jean had to play the dad and she kissed Patty Rosenbloom in front of an audience of pimply teens and their parents.

So maybe Barbra Jean isn’t “straight” per se. That doesn’t mean she’s in love with Reba. And _Reba_? Reba’s the straightest woman Barbra Jean’s ever met, save maybe Cheyenne. Reba swoons when she spots an attractive man, and of course, Reba had that whole _supergay_ misunderstanding with Sadie, The Lesbian Sports Agent.

Leave it to Barbra Jean to fall for her straight best friend. How could she not have seen it before? She discovers that these feelings have been building for a _long_ time, but now that she’s aware of them, she doesn’t know what to _do_.

And so that Friday, when Jake’s at a sleepover and Henry’s with his father, Barbra Jean buys a bottle of wine and downs the whole thing by the time Reba comes home from her date.

Earlier that night, Reba did her makeup a little nicer than usual and threw on a nice black shirt that hung off one shoulder. She descended the stairs and Barbra Jean met her at the railing.

“How do I look?” she asked with an excited smile.

Barbra Jean took in her outfit, her extra flippy hair, the glittery eyeshadow that made her crystal blue eyes pop, and _gosh dang it,_ she really was whipped. She tried not to stare at Reba’s boobs more than usual, which suddenly made BJ wonder _why_ there was even a _usual_ to begin with.

To be honest, Reba looked drop-dead _gorgeous_ , but after what happened a few nights ago, Barbra Jean swallowed that compliment and tried to find something that sounded more _friendly_.

“You, uh, you look great! I love, um,” Barbra Jean briefly glanced down, then back up. “I love your shoes.”

“Well, if he’s spending the night looking at my shoes instead of my face, that’s probably not a good sign, is it?” She laughed.

“One time my friends and I stole a sign,” Barbra Jean blurted, immediately chiding herself for such a stupid response.

Reba made a confused, yet interested face, which only made Barbra Jean’s panic worsen.

“We were in college. They’d had a little nip of the bud, if you know what I’m talking about.”

Reba put a hand on her waist, saying nothing to fill the silence and seeming to be entertained by the random comments spewing out of BJ’s mouth.

“It’s sittin’ in your garage somewhere. Mile marker 69.”

That did the trick. Reba burst out laughing, and Barbra Jean didn't know whether to laugh with her or cry from the stress of it all.

“You better not let Jake find that.”

“Or Van.”

Reba giggled again, and maybe Barbra Jean was a mess but at least she was making that melodious sound happen.

Reba collected herself and gestured to her makeup with a smile. “But seriously, you think I look okay?”

Barbra Jean let herself stare for a moment. She looked so pretty that Barbra Jean could only tell her the truth.

“You look beautiful.”

Pleased, Reba beamed and headed for the door.

“You gonna be okay here all by y’self?”

Barbra Jean’s heart melted at the idea that Reba had even thought to check on her.

“Yep, just gonna, you know, watch some TV, hang out…” _Drown out my newly discovered feelings in a bottle of wine…_

“Alright. If you need me, I have my cell.”

Barbra Jean chuckled, maybe a little too forcefully. “Get out of here! Go, have fun!”

She practically pushed Reba out of the very same door that she comes through now.

Even in her tipsy state, Barbra Jean can see the flush on Reba’s cheeks, which makes her wonder if they’d just been kissing on the porch without Barbra Jean even knowing, which makes Barbra Jean’s heart hurt a little bit more than it already does.

“Rebaaa!” Barbra Jean exclaims, throwing her arms in the air.

Reba jumps, startled by the loud, sudden shout.

“Reba, I missed you so much!” BJ slurs. “How was your date? Come tell me about it!” She pats the couch cushion beside her.

As Reba steps closer, she narrows her eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“No!” Barbra Jean replies, glancing at the table and realizing much too late that her empty bottle of wine is sitting there, right in plain view.

Reba follows her line of sight, then smiles thinly and nods. “Right, so you _didn’t_ drink that whole bottle tonight.”

Barbra Jean grins sheepishly. “Okay, you caught me.”

Taking a few steps closer, Reba’s smile softens. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk before, which is ironic since you usually act that way when you’re sober.”

Laughing, Barbra Jean waves a hand. “Oh, Reba, you’re so funny.” She pats the cushion. “Now come tell me about your date!”

Reba seems to debate for a minute, and Barbra Jean wonders if she’s really gonna share, but then Reba plops down beside her with a schoolgirl grin, and Barbra Jean silently thanks the Lord that Reba’s joined her.

“Well, for starters, he looked _really_ good.” Reba chuckles upon remembering, and Barbra Jean already has half a mind to track him down and make sure he’s good enough for her. She could do it. She tracked down Brock’s newest, youngest lover without much trouble. Certainly finding this guy would be a cinch.

“He opened doors for me the whole night. He was a real gentleman. But then when the waitress came, he ordered for me. Can you believe it? What kind of a man _orders_ for a woman without even consulting her?”

Barbra Jean scoffs. Only someone who really _knows_ Reba knows what she’d like to eat (usually salmon), but even Barbra Jean wouldn’t go so far as to order for her without telling her about it first! “That’s so rude!”

“Yeah. And as we got to talkin’, I realized his ego was so big, he makes Brock look like a decent husband.”

Laughing at Reba’s joke, Barbra Jean scoots a little closer, laying her arm across the back of the couch.

“It got a little better by the end of the night. He, um…” Now Barbra Jean is _sure_ she sees a blush on Reba’s cheeks. “He kissed me after he walked me to my car.”

“Aw, that’s great Reba!” Barbra Jean replies. She really _wants_ to be happy for Reba. More than anything, she wants Reba to be with someone who will make her smile like that all the time, even if it isn’t BJ in the picture with her.

She can’t stop the jealousy from bubbling in her stomach, though. She never realized she felt this way when Reba went on dates, but now that BJ _knows_ about her feelings? It’s pretty hard to ignore.

“Yeah,” Reba sighs, her smile fading.

“What’s wrong?”

Reba tilts her head. “I don’t know. He was nice enough. I was physically attracted to him. I should be really happy.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

Reba plays with the hem of her shirt, taking her time to formulate an answer. Barbra Jean is in agony as she waits.

“I guess I just feel a little hopeless. The dating pool keeps getting smaller by the day, but I don’t wanna settle down with a man who’s just _nice_.”

She seems very upset, and Barbra Jean hates seeing her so down like this. BJ also hates that she’s part of the reason Reba’s in this situation to begin with. Though, after Brock’s newest affair, Reba’s steadily been kinder to her, which Barbra Jean hopes is a sign that Reba’s truly forgiven her for her part in it.

Reba’s still frowning at the floor, and BJ struggles to find something to say that doesn’t scream _I’m-hopelessly-in-love-with-you_ but comes up nearly empty.

So she says what she’s thinking.

“Reba, you deserve way more than _just nice_.”

“Yeah, I know, but – ”

“No, I don’t think you do. After all the hard work you’ve put into your family, keeping it together after the divorce and even after mine, helping Van and Cheyenne raise Elizabeth, making sure _everyone_ feels at home here, you deserve to come home every day to someone who truly loves you. Someone who appreciates the things you do, someone who lets you order for yourself, someone…”

Reba’s looking at her with a grateful twinkle in her eye. There’s another smile on her face and this time, Barbra Jean actually put it there.

“Someone who thinks you deserve the world.”

Dammit, she’s too drunk for this.

She doesn’t have much self-control to begin with, and being drunk _definitely_ doesn’t help that, and she just _loves Reba so much_ and needs her to understand just how great she is.

So she closes the space between them and kisses Reba on the lips.

Reba pulls away instantly, jerking back and looking utterly shell-shocked. Her jaw hangs open and her beautiful blue eyes are wide as saucers. Barbra Jean recognizes this as the look Reba often gives her when she takes one of her ideas a bit too far, but now, she’s too drunk to care. Reba _has_ to know how special she is, even if it means giving Barbra Jean That Look.

Reba turns her head away for a moment, leaving Barbra Jean to stare at her shiny red locks and wonder if she’s blown their entire friendship. She doesn’t know what she’ll do without Reba, without her best friend, if Reba kicks her out, if she decides that this is it, that this is the last straw and that this time Barbra Jean really _has_ taken things too far.

Time passes so slowly, Barbra Jean wonders if hours are going by instead of minutes.

Finally, Reba meets her gaze, wearing a tight-lipped smile and holding back an emotion that Barbra Jean is too drunk to read correctly. BJ knows she sees love there – they’ve been friends for years now, and she knows that telling her this wouldn’t make Reba love her any less. But there’s something grave there, too. Sadness or anger, maybe. Honestly, in retrospect, Barbra Jean’s surprised she didn’t get slapped.

Gently, Reba reaches up and tucks a few strands of Barbra Jean’s hair out of her face.

“I think we oughta get you up to bed now.”

Barbra Jean knows this is not ideal, knows that Reba not kissing her back and not responding to what she’s said is a bad sign, but she’s too numb by the wine to really feel that pain right now, and besides, it actually feels really nice when Reba stands and gives her a hand up, when Reba wraps an arm around her torso and patiently leads her up the stairs, when Reba kindly tucks her into bed with her favorite beanie babies and stuffed animals.

“Reba?”

There’s a quiet sigh. “Yes, Barbra Jean?”

Barbra Jean debates whether to say what she wants to say, but decides the whole situation is already pretty bad, so what else did she have to lose?

“You know I love you, right?”

Reba’s lips lift into a sad smile.

“Go to sleep, honey.”

*

The next morning, Barbra Jean’s got a pounding headache.

Thankfully, she glances over at the night table and finds a glass of water and some Advil waiting for her.

That’s Reba. Always taking care of people.

Barbra Jean shoots upward as she remembers.

_Reba_.

Ohhh no, oh no, oh no. Did Barbra Jean really do that?

It’s only been days – DAYS – since Barbra Jean realized her feelings. She couldn’t keep them inside her for even a week?

Except it’s been more than days. She’s loved Reba since the moment they’d met. Reba’s one of the kindest, funniest people Barbra Jean has ever come to know. She can’t help but gravitate towards her.

And now Barbra Jean’s gone and messed things up. Again.

Reba hadn’t kicked her out – not _yet_ at least. She wouldn’t kick someone out of the house while they’re drunk.

Barbra Jean shudders. What if Reba was just waiting until BJ was sober again? Or what if Reba wants to pretend that nothing had happened at all? What if Reba’s going to make fun of this the way they all made fun of Van when he accidentally snuck into the wrong bedroom one night? She honestly doesn’t know which scenario would be the worst.

She pulls on a flowery outfit, hoping that will cheer her up a bit, but all she can think about is Reba. She wonders if Reba’s even home right now.

Deciding she’ll have to go downstairs eventually (or else starve in the bedroom), Barbra Jean heads for the kitchen.

When she gets there, however, Reba’s nowhere to be found. Instead, Elizabeth is playing in the living room, and Van and Cheyenne are at the kitchen table, picking at a bowl of grapes.

“Hey, guys,” Barbra Jean broaches tentatively. Maybe Reba’s already gotten to them.

“Oh, hey, Barbra Jean!” Cheyenne greets cheerfully.

Van gives her a “Hey” and a friendly, normal smile, so she thinks maybe Reba hasn’t said anything to them about what happened.

Which is also bad, because Barbra Jean is _terrible_ at keeping secrets.

“You guys see your mom around?”

“No,” Cheyenne says obliviously. “We came over to see if she wanted to spend some time with Elizabeth, but I don’t think she’s home. Have you seen her yet?”

Barbra Jean shakes her head, maybe a tad more than necessary, and croaks out, “Nope, haven’t seen her. Haven’t seen her.” Then she ducks into the refrigerator, both hoping for a place to hide and in an attempt to find some breakfast.

“Barbra Jean, are you okay?”

She panics and grabs a random leftover container from the fridge. “I’m fine!” She grins at the pair, who’ve gotten up from the table and now stand next to the counter stools. Holding up the container, she explains. “Just grabbin’ some breakfast!”

Cheyenne points to the container. “That’s meatloaf.”

Barbra Jean turns her head and notices in horror that she hadn’t grabbed any sort of breakfast food at all. She tries to think up something to explain it.

“Uh… I _know_! You know, everyone thinks that meatloaf is a dinner food, but I think it’s more of a breakfast food, don’t you?”

Van throws his arms in the air. “See, Cheyenne? I told you! Meatloaf for breakfast is a good idea!”

Cheyenne rolls her eyes at her husband and turns her attention back to BJ.

“C’mon, Barbra Jean, you can tell us. What’s going on?”

Barbra Jean bites her lip, physically trying to stop the words from coming out.

“Nah, I shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”

“Why, what is going – oh my god.”

Barbra Jean’s afraid to ask. Is she really _that_ transparent? Cheyenne and Van probably already know what it’s about –

“You hate my new highlights!” Cheyenne’s face is panic-stricken as she turned to Van. “I knew these were a bad idea!”

“Cheyenne, I keep telling you, that hair was _blonde_.”

“It was grey, Van, and you know it!”

“I kissed your mom!”

Immediately, Barbra Jean gasps and covers her mouth.

Cheyenne and Van stare at her with gaping mouths, and Barbra Jean knows she’s done it now. She’d tried to be strong, but with all the yelling and the stress, she just couldn’t take it anymore.

“You kissed my mom?” Cheyenne asks, disbelief erupting from every syllable.

“Yes,” Barbra Jean nods, nearly on the verge of tears as she rounds the counter and plops into a chair at the table. “And now I think she hates me!”

“Okay, well, slow down,” Cheyenne says, moving next to her and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What exactly did she say?”

Barbra Jean whimpers. “She said ‘ _I think we oughta get you up to bed now._ ’”

“Woah!” Van exclaims, backing up and covering his eyes though there’s nothing for him to be covering them from. “Barbra Jean! You don’t need to tell us about that!”

“No, no! That’s not what happened.” She pauses and tilts her head to the side, considering. “I _wish_ that’s what happened.”

Van shrieks again in horror.

“Van, stop it!” Cheyenne bats her husband’s arms down, then turns and gives Barbra Jean a concerned look. “Well, what _did_ happen?”

“Basically she helped me upstairs and tucked me into bed and then left.”

“Wait, why would you need help upstairs?”

Barbra Jean winces. “I might’ve been a little drunk.”

“Okay,” Cheyenne says, thinking. “So she didn’t _say_ anything?”

“No,” Barbra Jean whines.

“Maybe you just imagined it,” Van suggests. “I mean, you _were_ drunk.”

“Uh, I think I’d _remember_ kissing my favorite person in the whole world.”

“Okay…” Cheyenne says carefully. “Maybe this means that she’s willing to move past it and let everything go back to normal.”

Barbra Jean groans as an answer.

“But that’s good isn’t it?” Cheyenne says. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Shaking her head, Barbra Jean picks at a spot on the table and avoids eye contact as she admits, “I think I’m in love with her.”

Cheyenne tsks and awws and rubs her back.

Before anyone can say anything else, Kyra bursts in through the back door.

“Hey, guys!” After taking a second to read the room, Kyra’s expression changes to confusion and slight concern. “Okaaay. Who died?”

Barbra Jean bites her lip to keep from replying with _my dignity_. She’s already burdened Van and Cheyenne with this – she doesn’t want to bring Kyra into it, too.

Plus, Kyra might make fun of her.

“Hey, Kyra!” Barbra Jean greets in an over-excited tone. “I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.”

“Yeah, I stopped at Dad’s first and figured I’d come by here today.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! So how’s school?”

“You can cut the act.” Kyra raises her eyebrows at the three of them. “I know you’re hiding something. Now will someone please tell me why Barbra Jean looks like someone threw all of her beanie babies into a pit and burned them to a crisp?”

Barbra Jean shudders at the thought. Cheyenne and Van look to her, as it’s not their secret to tell. Barbra Jean knows she shouldn’t let it spill, but suddenly the words are bubbling out of her a second time.

“I think I’m in love with Reba.”

Kyra takes a moment to digest, then, “Yeah, and grass is green and Van reads at a third grade level.”

Van opens his mouth to protest, but Cheyenne shushes him and gives him a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder.

“Wait… you’re not surprised?”

Kyra scoffs. “You follow her around like a lost puppy. It’s not exactly new.”

“Oh, great,” Barbra Jean groans, burying her head in her hands. “So you’re saying Reba already knows?”

“Well, if she didn’t, she does now,” Van supplies.

Kyra furrows her brow. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Barbra Jean kissed mom,” Cheyenne clarifies, sounding concerned.

“Wait, you kissed mom?”

Barbra Jean looks up at her and nods.

“And you still have all of your limbs?”

“Aww,” Barbra Jean grumbles, throwing her arms on the table and resting her head against them.

Cheyenne continues rubbing her back and suggests, “Maybe you should lie low for a while. Just until things blow over.”

Barbra Jean feels the guilt rumbling in the pit of her stomach, guilt for kissing Reba and causing this mess, and now guilt for getting the kids involved. She’s about to agree when Kyra interrupts.

“Why?”

Barbra Jean looks back up and sees Kyra looking confused.

“Uh,” Cheyenne says, “Because Mom’s not gay? Because this is really embarrassing for both of them and Mom will probably flip the next time she sees Barbra Jean?”

“Thanks, Cheyenne.”

Kyra shrugs. “You two would be good together. Mom may _act_ like you’re the most annoying person on the planet – and you are – but I think she cares about you more than she lets on.”

Barbra Jean can’t believe what she’s hearing. Kyra _supports_ this? Reba might actually _care_ about her?

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think it’s kinda cool that you let her know how you feel.”

“Aw, thanks, Kyra.”

Barbra Jean reaches for Kyra’s hand, and surprisingly, Kyra lets her squeeze it.

That’s when Reba bursts through the kitchen door, sporting a sweat-stained T-shirt and a pair of track pants. It looks like she’s been exercising.

Reba spots her long-lost middle child first. “Kyra!” She rushes over and wraps her in a hug, and Kyra lets her, despite Reba being all sweaty.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much! What are you doin’ here?”

Kyra replies after Reba lets go. “It’s been a while, so I thought I’d come home and visit everybody.”

Reba smiles at her, patting her on the shoulder before turning her attention to everyone else in the room.

“Hey Van, Cheyenne,” she says. “What are y’all doin’ here?”

“Well, we thought we’d all come by and pay you a little visit.”

“Oh, that was sweet of you,” Reba says, crossing to the sink to get a drink of water. “Where’s Elizabeth?”

“In the living room, playing.”

Barbra Jean reasons that Reba can’t be _too_ mean to her in the company of other people, so she ventures a quiet, “Hey, Reba.”

Reba sips her water and, without making eye contact, says, “Barbra Jean.”

The air in the room tenses. Cheyenne attempts to break it. “Mom, where were you? And why are you all sweaty?”

Reba shrugs and offers a sort of proud smirk. “I went for a run.”

Cheyenne laughs a little. “You don’t run.”

“Sure I do! I ran that 5k a few years ago for Jake’s school.”

“Yeah, but that was like, ages ago.”

Reba gives her a warning look against any more comments about her age or athleticism.

“I had some thinkin’ to do.”

“Yeah?” Cheyenne replies, sneaking a glance at Barbra Jean. “What about?”

“Oh, just the houses outside our neighborhood that Barbra Jean might be able to afford.”

Ouch.

The room quiets. It’s the harshest jab Barbra Jean’s heard in months. And it’s not even really a jab, except that this is the first time either of them have mentioned looking for a house, and it’s said so _conveniently_ after Barbra Jean’s just done something that probably upset Reba.

And apparently, that one quip is enough for Cheyenne. “You know, I’m gonna go check on Elizabeth.”

Van bellows a jolted, uncomfortable laugh, says, “I’ll come with you,” and follows her out. Kyra trails behind them, but when Reba also tries to follow, wanting to see her granddaughter, Kyra stops, grabs her by the shoulders, and spins her back into the kitchen.

“Hey! What are you doin’?”

“You two need to talk,” Kyra says, giving her a nudge toward Barbra Jean.

Reba shoots her an annoyed look as Cheyenne dips into the pass-through, says, “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend we’re not listening,” and shuts the divider.

Then suddenly it’s just Reba and Barbra Jean in the kitchen.

“I’m guessin’ you told the kids about what happened last night.”

For a second, Barbra Jean scoffs and tries to play it off. “No…”

Reba puts her hands on her hips and Barbra Jean caves. “Okay, yeah.”

Sighing, Reba crosses back to the sink and refills her glass. Barbra Jean gets up and follows her over, making sure to stand a safe distance away.

“Reba – ”

Reba puts a hand up in a dismissive motion. “Look, don’t worry about it, okay?” She finally looks at Barbra Jean for the first time since last night. “I know you were a little drunk and…” She sets her glass on the counter, using it as an excuse to look away again. “Maybe some things happened that really shouldn’t’ve.”

“You mean you’re not mad at me? You’re not gonna make fun of me?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can,” Reba chuckles before sobering and meeting her eyes again. “I appreciate the things you said last night. It meant a lot to me.”

Barbra Jean smiles. “Well, it’s true. You deserve everything, Reba.”

“Thanks, Barbra Jean.” She puts a hand on BJ’s arm. “I’m glad to have a friend like you.”

Reba slips past her, heading for the living room again.

And Barbra Jean could let her leave. She could let them continue to be just friends, to pretend like everything’s fine and that last night was just a drunken fluke. But she knows it will kill her inside if she doesn’t let her feelings out, for real this time. Without the booze.

“Reba, wait.”

Reba stops, her back to Barbra Jean, and it takes her a second to turn around.

Barbra Jean’s heart is pounding, but since she’s not trying to keep her feelings back, the words seem to come out a little easier.

“I know our friendship started out a little… strained. I always liked you more than you liked me.”

The corner of Reba’s lip twitches into a half-smile. “That’s an understatement.”

Barbra Jean hums at the comment, then takes a few steps until she’s standing right in front of Reba. “You’ve always been special to me. And in the past few years, our relationship has really grown. The thing is, I don’t think I realized _just_ how special you are to me until a few days ago.”

Reba’s listening patiently, and Barbra Jean can tell she knows what’s coming, but she doesn’t let on annoyance or nervousness or irritation like Barbra Jean would expect. She’s not interrupting or making fun. And for a moment Barbra Jean feels like she can breathe.

“I’m in love with you, Reba.”

There’s a beat. The words hang in the air and Barbra Jean’s holding her breath again, waiting for Reba to dismiss her or crack another joke.

Reba sighs, letting out a soft dry laugh. She looks down at the floor, then back up at Barbra Jean with a kind, sad smile.

“I was afraid this was comin’.” She tilts her head. “Barbra Jean, I really care about you. But you know I can’t feel the same way, right?”

Barbra Jean nods. “I know.” She closes her eyes, sighs, and opens them again. “I don’t know, I guess I thought that even if nothin’ happened, you still needed to know how much you’re loved.”

“Thanks, Barbra Jean.” Reba reaches out and squeezes BJ’s arm.

“And also I’m terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, you’re about as subtle as a dump truck.”

They both chuckle at the joke. Then there’s another moment of silence, and Barbra Jean is suddenly worried that Reba will abandon her, so she does some damage control.

“Listen, Reba, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t wanna lose the close friendship that we have.”

“Yeah,” Reba whispers. “Neither do I.”

Barbra Jean has never been one for subtlety. She’s always been about the grand gestures, and the medium gestures, and even some of the small gestures. She’s always gone after what she wanted, even if she looked a little silly doing it.

And here’s Reba, smiling at her like they really are best friends. Like Reba really _does_ care about her. Like maybe Kyra isn’t wrong about what she’s been seeing.

And of course, Barbra Jean isn’t great at self-control.

The fifth time she kisses Reba, it’s gentler than the ones before it. Those were awkward, quick. There’s no force in the way Barbra Jean cups Reba’s cheek with one hand, leans in, and captures soft pink lips with her own.

For half a second, Reba doesn’t respond. It’s just Barbra Jean’s lips pressed against Reba’s, and Barbra Jean’s heart is nearly leaping out of her chest for how fast it’s beating. What if she’s just made a terrible, terrible mistake?

Then Reba’s lips are moving beneath hers, and _is Reba kissing her back?_

The world slows. Barbra Jean can’t believe what’s happening. This woman, this strong woman who’s spent _years_ teasing her and trying to kick her out of the kitchen, this amazing woman who’s helped Barbra Jean through the hardest time in her life… is kissing her back.

It’s perfect. Everything Barbra Jean could ever want.

And then there’s two hands pushing her backwards, breaking the kiss and sending Barbra Jean stumbling.

“I just told you I don’t feel the same way! I’m not gay!”

The tears spring to her eyes before she can stop them, but at least she’s able to keep them from spilling. Barbra Jean’s afraid to look at Reba’s face, and when she finally does, she only sees red-hot anger. What happened to the soft smile that was there not a minute ago?

She lifts her eyes over Reba’s shoulder to find Van, Cheyenne, and Kyra all standing in the archway, watching everything unfold with shocked expressions.

“I’m sorry, I – ”

“Barbra Jean, of all the stupid things you’ve done, this one’s the _stupidest_!” She turn to leave the room. Barbra Jean starts to follow her, but Reba whips back around to say, “Just leave me alone.” Then, Reba storms past her kids and out of sight, leaving Barbra Jean alone with her tears beginning to fall.

She rushes out of the house before any of the kids can try to stop her.

*

Barbra Jean’s kneeling on the floor of Cheyenne and Van’s bedroom. Her suitcase lies open on the bed, halfway packed with her clothes, and she’s currently trying to figure out how to fit the rest of her stuff into the boxes in front of her.

After fleeing Reba’s house, Barbra Jean went for a drive. She wasn’t sure where she was going, just that she wanted to get away. She wound up in the church parking lot, empty aside from her own car. She didn’t get out or anything; it was Saturday, so the building was probably locked. She just didn’t want to feel so alone while she sat in her car and cried.

She never knew love could hurt like this. She loved Brock for sure, but even their divorce, which picked up Barbra Jean’s life and shifted it so dramatically, didn’t make her want to crawl in a hole and never come out. What frustrated Barbra Jean the most was that the person she’d usually come to about this, the person she’d usually vent to or get advice from… that person was _Reba_ , the same person this whole thing was about.

After a while, she drove to the mall. Not to buy anything, just to browse and get her mind off of what was happening.

When evening fell, she decided it was time to go home. (The idea of calling Reba’s house _home_ feels like a cruel ironic twist.) Luckily, she was able to sneak back into the house and up the stairs without being detected. She dug out the deconstructed boxes that had moved her things in and started taping them together. Reba hasn’t told her to move out yet, but at this point, Barbra Jean’s sure she won’t want her there anymore.

Why did she have to _kiss_ Reba? Why couldn’t she have left it at _I’m in love with you_? Now Reba’s furious with her and Barbra Jean has probably _completely_ wrecked their friendship. For good this time.

She’ll probably find a motel for her and Henry. At least for a little bit, until they find an apartment or a house to live in.

That’s what she’s thinking about as she fills the first box and starts taping it closed.

“What are you doin’?” a familiar voice asks. Barbra Jean turns to find Reba standing in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning against the frame. Surprisingly, it seems like her anger’s nearly all gone. She only looks puzzled at the mess Barbra Jean’s making.

Barbra Jean glances back down at the cardboard boxes, the duct tape, and all her things scattered about the floor.

“Packin’.”

Reba crosses her arms, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Why?”

“Cause I blew it.”

“Well, why do you think you blew it?”

Did… did Reba _forget_ what had happened earlier that day? Barbra Jean switches from her kneeling position and sits on the floor against the footboard of one of the beds. “I kissed you after you made it _very_ clear that you weren’t interested.”

Reba still seems genuinely confused. Maybe Barbra Jean’s misread the whole situation.

“You said it yourself,” BJ adds, “it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

She watches Reba carefully as the other woman glances at the floor, uncrosses her arms, and steps tentatively into the room. This isn’t a Reba that Barbra Jean’s used to seeing, a sharp contrast to the loud, stubborn, and witty woman who holds her head high with pride and teases Barbra Jean every chance she gets.

“It’s come to my attention that… maybe I overreacted.”

Ah, it’s _come to her attention_. Barbra Jean recognizes this as Reba’s way of saying that someone’s talked to her and pointed out that whatever she’s done is wrong. Barbra Jean figures the kids talked to Reba after she left. But she doesn’t want Reba to feel bad – it was Barbra Jean who’d done wrong here.

“No, no, I deserved it. I was completely out of line.”

Reba shuffles, takes a deep breath, and meets BJ’s eyes.

“No, Barbra Jean, you weren’t.”

Barbra Jean furrows her brow. “But you said – ”

“I know what I said.”

Reba’s eyes drop to the empty spot next to Barbra Jean on the floor. She raises her eyebrows and points to it, and when Barbra Jean nods, Reba walks over and sits next to her, now both of their backs against the footboard.

For a long moment, Reba doesn’t say anything. She scrunches her lips and stares straight ahead, and Barbra Jean can tell she’s working up the nerve to say something. Barbra Jean, for once in her life, knows when to shut up and waits for Reba to talk.

Finally, “I think I was scared.”

“Scared?” Barbra Jean scoffs. “You’re never scared. You’re Reba. Other people are afraid of _you_.”

Reba’s lips twitch into a half-smile at the comment. “I think I was scared of my own feelings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never wanted to like you. You were always the other woman to me. Annoying and silly and absolutely the _last_ person I wanted to be friends with. But somehow you’ve wormed your way into my home and into my heart. I really care about you.” She takes a deep breath. “Possibly even in the same way you care for me.”

Now it’s Barbra Jean’s turn to be confused. “But you’re not gay.”

Reba tilts her head in acknowledgement. “I’ve never liked another woman before. But our relationship has never been normal, and you make me feel things I’ve never felt for anyone else except for Brock.”

Barbra Jean thinks her heart might actually be melting. “Aw, Reba!”

“’Course, most of that is frustration.”

They giggle softly at the jab, thankful for a bit of relief from the tension.

“The point is…” Reba continues slowly, taking one of Barbra Jean’s hands in her own and interlacing their fingers. “I might not be ready to say the words you used this morning, but your feelings aren’t exactly unrequited.”

Okay, now Barbra Jean knows her heart is melting. Her heart’s fluttering so hard, she’s surprised she isn’t jumping up for joy. It might be because Reba’s hand is clasping hers, somehow keeping her rooted to reality and the floor.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.”

“It’s okay,” Barbra Jean says, giving Reba’s hand a squeeze. “Does this mean I can stay?”

“I never told you to leave.” Reba smiles warmly at her. “But yes, you can stay.”

“Oh yay!”

“But we’re gonna have to take this all slowly. I’m new at this.”

Barbra Jean nods understandingly. “Liking another woman?”

“Liking _you_.”

Studying the way Reba’s cheeks blush after she says it, Barbra Jean states confidently, “No, you’re not. You’re just new to sayin’ it aloud.”

Reba rolls her eyes good-naturedly, not wanting to agree with the statement but unable to deny it, either.

Instead, she says, “You know, that kiss in the kitchen wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be.”

Barbra Jean sits up a little straighter, interested in where Reba’s taking this. “Really?”

For a second, it’s Reba looking at Barbra Jean’s lips and Barbra Jean hardly daring to breathe. Then, it happens.

The first time Reba kisses Barbra Jean, it’s no accident. She leans over and kisses Barbra Jean deliberately, and this time, no one pulls away abruptly or questions why it’s happening. They’re alone in a quiet room, with no one to see or gawk or make fun. It is gentle and tender, and maybe Barbra Jean is impulsive and makes herself look silly nearly always, but at least all those other kisses have led to this one.

And Barbra Jean knows it’s gonna be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Quarantine! I've had this idea for months, and suddenly found motivation to write it after binging Reba during these wild times.
> 
> (Yes, I'm still working on Destiny. It's coming, I promise!)
> 
> I hope whoever's reading this is safe and healthy (and if you're living in post COVID-19 times... what's /that/ like? lol). Thanks for reading this!


End file.
